


hard to see this time of night

by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, M/M, that's right kids my unstoppable soulmate au addiction lives on!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 17:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20915648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwatson/pseuds/eddiespaghetti
Summary: For 27 years, Eddie Kaspbrak doesn't remember his dreams. Something about him is just broken. But after everything, in Derry, when he falls asleep - he dreams.





	hard to see this time of night

**Author's Note:**

> i finally wrote something under 10,000 words!! i'm very excited about it! anyways i love soulmate aus i'm a big sucker, etc etc, hope you guys enjoy it <3
> 
> inspired in part by that photo of james ransone sitting in a field of daffodils, being beautiful, which i hope at least some of you have seen but i cannot find to link to - i just have it saved on my phone lkasfd
> 
> title credit to hippo campus' bambi, which i often listen to while thinking about eddie.

The entire time they’re in Derry, Eddie doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t think any of them do - there’s no time, and they’re all terrified and lit up like there’s live electricity running through their veins.

Basically, he hasn’t slept since Mike called him.

So they go to the quarry after, all seven of them, and Eddie complains and Richie shoves him under the water, and Eddie shoves him back, and Ben and Bev are off somewhere kissing because they figured that out finally, and Bill and Mike are talking quietly and Stan’s busy rolling his eyes at all of them even while he’s still shaking, just a little.

Then they go back to the Town House, to sleep. They’re all ready to crash.

“As soon as I wake up, I’m going home, and I’m seeing my wife, and I am never talking about this again even if I do remember,” Stan mumbles while they’re walking.

“We gonna meet your wife sometime?” Richie asks.

“She doesn’t deserve that - maybe she can meet some of you, but Richie, no, absolutely not.”

Eddie laughs, but he knows it sounds a little hollow. The word wife made him remember - and now he’s fighting the urge to shiver. But he’s tired, so he can go and get some rest and then worry about everything after he’s slept.

Lying on his bed in the Town House, though, his heart is still pounding even while he can barely keep his eyes open.

Eddie never remembers his dreams. At least he hasn’t, for the last 27 years. Any night at home he felt like he dreamed, he would startle awake in bed, shiver and shudder, and edge away from Myra, suddenly disgusted, and ache for something that he couldn’t name. There’s something in his head, something in his subconscious, that he can’t get to no matter how hard he tries.

Dreams, he knows, for other people, are supposed to mean something. You’re supposed to see the person you’re meant to be with or something about your future - something significant. Eddie never has those dreams - or at the very least, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone. He doesn’t have a soulmate. He’s known for 27 years. Something inside of him is irreparably broken and he doesn’t know why and no doctor has ever been able to tell him what did it.

Myra always said she has dreams about him- Eddie couldn’t ever tell if she was lying or not. She always said he was just a little broken, but it didn’t matter, and he listened. No one else ever said they dreamed about him - no one else ever tried.

He used to sleep on the couch some nights in New York, if he woke up from what felt like a dream. He could never make himself stay in bed afterwards.

Now he’s at the Town House, and he remembers everything, and he is terrified to go to sleep.

It’s comical, probably, it would be to anyone else, that after what they’ve done, after what he did and what all of them did together, that he could be afraid of anything ever again. And yet, there he is.

Stumbling and fuzzy from exhaustion, he gives up on sleep and goes downstairs.

He assumes everyone else is in bed already, but instead when he goes down to the bar, Richie is there.

Eddie blinks at him.

“Rich?”

Richie startles, and turns around, and then he relaxes visibly when he realizes it’s Eddie, his shoulders slumping again. “Hey, Spaghetti Man. Can’t sleep either?”

“Don’t fucking call me that, asshole,” Eddie tells him, but he goes over to the bar anyways, pours himself a drink and then looks back up at Richie. “I can’t, though, no. Why can’t you?”

Richie’s laugh is hollow and cracked, and it sounds like Eddie’s laugh had felt earlier that day, when they’d all been walking back from the quarry. Eddie shivers to hear it.

“Rich-”

“You remember what Ben and Bev were saying at the restaurant the first night? That they - they didn’t remember their dreams for the last 27 years?”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s heart is pounding, he can feel it in his throat, feels like it might choke him.

“I can’t either. I joked around like an asshole, then, but I can’t either. You know, Bill’s got his wife and Stan’s got his, and Mike’s gonna find somebody when he leaves this shitty place, I know he is, and you’ve got-”

“I don’t dream either. I haven’t. I don’t remember ever doing it, I don’t remember them, anyways, if I have them, I’ve seen - I’ve seen every like therapist and dream specialist there is and nobody knew how to fix it, but I’m assuming it’s probably because of - all of this.”

Richie looks at him, obviously bewildered. “And you got married?”

“...Myra says she has dreams about me, I don’t know, I-” Eddie’s voice catches, and he throws back the rest of his glass like it’s a shot, and pours himself another one. “I think I made a mistake, but it’s just so - she always told me it didn’t matter that I was broken. Like that’s comforting somehow, yeah thanks, that’s fucking great-”

“Eds.”

Eddie looks up and tries to force himself to take deep breaths. “Sorry.”

“‘S fine. I just - I didn’t know.”

“Well there hasn’t been a lot of time for small talk, or whatever the fuck you wanna call this, we were all kind of busy. Childhood bully trying to murder us, giant fucking demon clown alien thing trying to torture us, you know.”

Richie snorts. “Fair enough. I just - you wanna come up to my room? Or I can go to yours, or something? If neither of us can sleep - we can bring a bottle, just you and me, like old times, Eddie Spaghetti.”

It’s true - Richie had been the first person Eddie had gotten drunk with. Richie had stolen a bottle from his parents’ cabinet, found a way to hide it so he wouldn’t get caught, and he’d snuck it into the clubhouse. Eddie had hated the taste and the burn in his throat, but even at 16 he’d have done anything just to get Richie to look at him. They’d passed the bottle back and forth and squeezed into the hammock together, drunk off not even the whole bottle, and giggled and shoved at each other until they fell out, and then giggled some more.

Grabbing a bottle at random, Eddie passes it to Richie. “Sure, why not?”

Grinning, Richie comes over and throws an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Your place or mine, Eds?”

“Your room’s probably fucking disgusting, let’s just go to mine.”

They go upstairs together and get settled on the bed, both of them sitting leaned up against the headboard. Just like that time in the clubhouse, they pass the bottle back and forth, and Eddie tries not to think about the fact that he’s putting his lips around the bottle right where Richie’s were just a minute ago.

Still, he licks his lips afterwards and his fingers brush against Richie’s when they’re passing it off, and Eddie shivers.

“You really never got married, huh? Was there ever- anyone?” Eddie asks, presumably because he just fucking hates himself and he’s a glutton for punishment.

“I, uh- I mean there was a guy once, but he was just one of those types - he hadn’t met the person he dreamed about yet, he was fucking around. I was kind of fucking around, too, I tried that for a while.”

Eddie hums, and tries to ignore the churning in his stomach. “...I think I hate Myra. Now that I remember. She’s just- she’s just like my mom, and I swear to God, Rich, if you crack a joke about that right now-”

“No, I won’t. I won’t. I mean, maybe later, but not right now, when we’re both - god, I’m too fucking tired to be funny, you know? I got nothing left.”

“Thank God,” Eddie sighs, and Richie laughs a little. It sounds better than it did downstairs.

As they drink, and finish the bottle, they both slump down further until they’re essentially just laying on the bed next to each other.

Eddie’s eyelids are finally so heavy he feels like he might really fall asleep, and Richie’s not really talking any more, just humming quietly every once in a while.

“‘S good if I sleep in your bed, Eds?” Richie mumbles.

“Not if you call me that, dickwad,” Eddie says back, but it’s quiet and muffled against the pillow, and then they’re both asleep.

When Eddie was 12, he used to have this dream. He was in a field - big, wide open field, the kind he’d never seen before. There was nothing like it in Derry. It was a field full of flowers - full of yellow daffodils. Eddie would brush his fingers over the petals, walk in between them and try not to crush any. He’d find a spot, one bare spot and sit down. He found that if he crouched down and made himself small, he could hide there. The flowers were tall, and they brushed over his head, and no one could have seen him unless they were standing right over him.

Every time he had the dream, he’d wake up and curl his hands into fists and pull them close to his chest, and he’d bring his knees up and burrow into his blankets and hide there, too. It meant something, and he knew it did, and he was terrified to find out what.

He didn’t remember the dream, or even having it, for 27 years.

When he dreams in the Derry Town House, though, he’s back in that field, and he thinks,  _ I’ve been here before _ . But he hasn’t, in real life, he’s still never seen anything like that field, he’s still never travelled outside of the Northeast and he’s barely really ever left his doorstep.

The field is enormous, and Eddie can see the horizon in all directions.

There’s no one there.

Eddie finds a spot, just like he used to - and it almost looks like he was just sitting there. He crouches down, careful around all of the flowers, and looks out over the field. The whole thing, every flower, sways in the breeze.

Suddenly conscious of pollen, he rubs at his face and his nose, feeling like maybe he’ll sneeze - but he doesn’t.

_ You’re not allergic to pollen in a dream, dipshit _ , a voice in his head says, and it sounds a lot like Richie.

Eddie laughs.

Then, he looks up, and there is someone there.

They’re far off, in the distance, so small that all Eddie can tell is it’s definitely someone else, a figure, fairly tall and wearing a dark jacket, and not - well it’s definitely not his wife.

Eddie stands up, slowly, like if he moves too quickly the other person might bolt or disappear - and for all he knows, they will. He starts walking, but they stay small and far away, and so he starts running, like it’s going to make a difference. He keeps going and going until he feels it- like he’s actually exerting himself and his heart is pounding and his breathing is heavy and they’re still not any closer.

He’s tempted to cry out, to scream something, to get their attention, but if does, what then? What if they still don’t come any closer? What if they leave?

He sits back down - and not long after, he wakes up.

Richie’s not in the bed anymore, and Eddie almost panics about that, too, but then he hears noises in the bathroom.

When Eddie stumbles over to the door, he finds Richie with his head pressed against the toilet seat, and all his own crises about his dream take an immediate backseat.

“Jesus, Rich,” Eddie says, and he gets a washcloth and puts some cold water on it before pressing it against the back of Richie’s neck. Eddie watches him shiver.

“Sorry, Eds. Guess my tolerance just ain’t what it used to be.”

“So the jokes are back, huh?”

“Less tired now. I had a dream, though. Did you?”

“Yep. Was yours this bad?”

“I- uh. Yeah. Little bit, yeah. How about you?”

“Not this bad. Not great but - not this bad.” He sits on the bathroom floor, and his brain goes  _ dirtydisgustingflithyyou’llgetsick _ and he ignores it so he can rub at Richie’s back. “I think I should probably get a divorce, though.”

Richie laughs, and it echoes in the toilet bowl, which makes Eddie smile, too. “Yeah? Your mom’s not the woman of your dreams after all?”

Eddie smacks him on the back of the head. “What’d I say about no jokes?”

“I told you maybe later!” Richie sits up just to protest, and Eddie shoves at him, and Richie shoves him back.

“Brush your teeth, asshole,” Eddie tells him as he stands up, but he’s still smiling a little, even as he’s dusting off his pajama pants.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to go back to my room for that, unless you want me using your toothbrush-”

“No fucking way, go, go-”

“Alright, alright!”

He shoves Richie out of the door and closes it behind him, leaning against it.

He’s still laughing a little at first.

Then he realizes it’s the best time to get in touch with Myra - do it now, like ripping off a bandaid, then when he leaves Derry he doesn’t have to go home right away, he doesn’t have to go back to that and face her and risk getting trapped again.

There’s really nothing in that apartment he wants.

She picks up the phone almost immediately, and she screams and yells and asks where he was, and he knocks his forehead against the door while he waits, trying to get a word in edgewise.

Finally, she’s just crying, and he fights past every bit of nausea inducing guilt and manages to tell her, “Myra, I had a dream last night, and it wasn’t - it’s not you, in them. I think we should get a divorce.”

“Eddie, what are you talking about? You know you don’t have dreams.”

“I never remembered them. Coming home made me remember, and I do have them, and you’re not in them. I don’t think I’m in yours, either.”

“Eddie-bear-”

“Fuck! Don’t call me that Myra, I hate it, my mother used to call me that, I told you that, just- for God’s sake, why would you even lie about that?”

“...You needed me, Eddie. You needed someone. And my dreams are bad, too, you don’t want to be the way you are-”

Eddie knows exactly what she means and he hates it, because it’s what his mother meant, too. “Actually I do. I do want to be the way I am. I just didn’t remember who I was - I’m gonna talk to my lawyer, and he’ll send you the papers. Keep what you want, throw it away, I don’t care, but I don’t want to talk to you again. This is over, Myra, alright?”

He hangs up on her, and he exhales.

There’s a quiet knock on his door.

He opens it, and finds Richie on the other side.

“Fuck, how much of that did you hear?” Eddie asks.

Richie smiles at him, sheepishly. “Pretty much all of it, man. You good?”

“Better, I guess. I don’t know. God, it’s just so fucked up.”

“Yeah, I know. I know.” He reaches out, maybe just to put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, but Eddie pulls him into a hug.

He presses his face against Richie’s chest and takes a deep breath and Richie actually holds him, and doesn’t shove him off.

“It’s okay, Eds,” Richie tells him quietly.

Eddie hums, and squeezes his eyes shut, and says “Don’t call me,” but then he stops himself, and shoves back enough to look at Richie’s face. Richie looks startled, and blinks down at him, but his hands are still on Eddie’s shoulders. Opening his mouth, Eddie starts and stops himself awkwardly, before finally he forces himself to say. “I don’t actually hate it when you call me that. You know that, right? I never did, even when we were kids, I-”

Richie smiles at him, something small and soft, and nods. “Yeah, Eds. If I really thought you hated it, I wouldn’t do it.”

At that, Eddie fists a hand in Richie’s shirt and pulls him back into another hug, tighter this time, pulling like he can’t get Richie close enough, like if he holds on tight enough neither of them will ever have to leave again and they can just stay here, just like this.

Someone behind them coughs, clearing their throat, and Eddie doesn’t move, because fuck that.

“Hey, Stan,” Richie says.

Eddie pulls back just enough to turn his head, but he doesn’t let go of Richie.

“Right. Well I wanted to come tell you guys I’m leaving - I think Bill might be leaving soon, too, but. Take your time with whatever this is, I guess.”

Richie looks down at Eddie and raises an eyebrow, and Eddie lets go of him. Still, Richie reaches over and squeezes his shoulder before he goes over to give Stan a hug.

“Alas, Stan the Man, this is farewell, parting is such sweet sorrow,”

“God I hate you, genuinely I hate you,” Stan says, standing there and rolling his eyes as Richie gives him a hug. “We have a group chat, now, we’re probably all gonna go on some big ridiculous friend vacation like twice a year-”

Eddie goes over and tugs Richie off just so he can get in and give Stan a hug, too.

He pats Stan on the back as he pulls away, and they all give each other a little smile.

“Get dressed and get downstairs, you idiots,” Stan tells them over his shoulder, tugging his suitcase along behind him.

Eddie gets in one more glance at Richie before he shrugs and goes back into his room. He doesn’t have time for anything beyond just washing his face, brushing his teeth, and changing his clothes, but he does all of that, one thing at a time. He looks at everything still in his suitcase, and puts everything together so he’s mostly packed, just in case he leaves today - but he has no idea where he’d go.

When he comes out of his room, Richie’s waiting in the hallway, dressed and fucking around with his phone.

They walk downstairs together.

Everyone else is sitting at the bar. Bill and Stan both have their suitcases - but then Eddie notices that Ben and Bev do, too.

They spend some time, all of them together, joking around in the bar area. It’s like the Chinese restaurant all over again, but this time all of them seem a little lighter, a little less grim, a little less like the weight of the world is resting on their shoulders.

It’s different, too, because there was only one armchair left, and when Richie sat down in it, Eddie shoved at him and sat on the arm, so now they’re close and Richie keeps nudging him or poking him in between sentences, just enough to make Eddie shove him back.

Stan leaves first, and they all have a big group hug, all seven of them.

He complains, but he smiles, and he waves again as he heads out the door.

Bill goes next, with promises to keep in touch. Then Ben and Bev leave together.

Once everyone else is gone, Mike turns to look at them. “When are you two heading out?” he asks - you two, like they’re leaving together.

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know, technically speaking I’m homeless, so maybe never.”

“You could always have my old place,” Mike offers with a grin, and Eddie laughs, just one sharp sound.

“Yeah, no thanks, buddy, let’s all just get the fuck out of here and never come back.”

Richie wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist at that, sort of tugs at him, and Eddie turns to raise an eyebrow at him.

“I already missed my tour dates in Reno, my manager’s probably gonna fucking kill me. I’m not exactly in a hurry for that, but - you know, I got plenty of space in my hotel rooms or at my place in LA. That is, if you don’t think you’ll kill me.”

Eddie huffs a little and shakes his head, poking Richie hard in the shoulder. “I’m not gonna kill you, dipshit. Way too much blood and way too much work to clean up your body.”

“That’s an offer for you, too, Mike, if you ever get sick of Florida,” Richie says, looking over.

Mike smiles. “Thanks, Richie. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He leaves, then, to pack, hugs them both goodbye in case they do decide to leave before the day is over. He tells them to keep in touch.

Then it’s just the two of them again.

Eddie turns, since they’re both standing now, and looks up at Richie. “Did you really mean all that? You want me to come with you?”

Richie shrugs, throwing him a grin that seems artfully careless - like Richie’s trying really hard to make the whole thing seem casual. “Why not? You’ve got nowhere else to go, I’ve got nobody to come with me - we’ll make it work, right? At least until you get sick of me and get your own place.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie heads upstairs. “Alright, that’s enough of the Richie Tozier pity party special, let’s just get our shit, then, and get to the airport.”

“The pity party-” Richie sputters, following him up the stairs.

“You sound like an idiot when you say shit like that and you know it - how long did I put up with your shit when we were kids? And I’m still putting up with it now. I’m not gonna suddenly change my mind when we’re fucking 40 years old. Probably would have been putting up with it for the last 27 years if not for the memory erasing curse shit.”

Richie doesn’t have anything to say to that, apparently, but Eddie’s sort of fed up keeping his mouth shut. He’s had a long week.

They both finish packing and meet back up in the hallway, and Richie grabs one of Eddie’s suitcases without asking. They pack everything up in Richie’s car and Eddie drives them to the airport.

While they’re on their way, Richie calls his manager, and gets thoroughly chewed out over the phone. Eddie tries to keep himself from snickering, but apparently Richie still catches him at it and punches him in the arm while he’s still trying to explain himself.

When it’s all said and done, it’s agreed - the rest of Richie’s tour got cancelled, so now they’re going back to LA, and Richie’s manager is going to try and figure out a way to reschedule or otherwise save his career.

“Guess I’m gonna have to get a job in LA to keep you up, then,” Eddie says when they’re pulling up to the airport.

“Yeah that’s really not how I envisioned this arrangement going, but I guess there’s risk to be analyzed everywhere you go.”

Eddie shrugs. “Or whatever I end up doing - I think I probably hate my job, too, but we’ll figure it out.”

It’s late when they land in LA. The city skyline is beautiful when they’re descending, the lights sparkling with the sunset behind it. Eddie took the window seat because otherwise he gets sort of anxious about flying and he has a tendency to get motion sick - he needs to be able to look out the window and see where they are, see that everything is fine.

They find Richie’s car in the parking lot at LAX, and if anything it is even more ridiculous than the rental car he had in Derry. Eddie laughs when Richie unlocks it, just standing there and looking it over - Eddie doesn’t know much about cars, but it’s classic and red and ridiculous. “Jesus, talk about a midlife crisis car, Rich,” he says, needling a little.

Richie looks shocked and a little pleased, somehow simultaneously. “Well fuck you, too, Eds, I don’t see your car anywhere.”

“That’s because it’s in Manhattan, but at least mine was a fucking luxury SUV, not-”

“Are you telling me that you, short stuff, drove like a fucking Escalade, that’s the funniest thing I can imagine-”

“Okay, shut up, asshole, this is about you not me-”

They’re back at it, and they manage to keep it up all the way out to Richie’s house.

Richie’s house, as it turns out, is fucking huge. Bigger than any place Eddie’s ever seen in his life. Eddie raises his eyebrows, and turns to look at Richie, and Richie just half-shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck and starts inside with his duffel bag and one of Eddie’s suitcases.

Eddie follows him - but jesus, there’s two floors and a pool out back and the whole thing is all modern LA celebrity tour home, and Eddie had no idea that Richie had that kind of money.

They get inside, and the lower floor is all open plan, with a kitchen and a dining room and a living room, and they’re all sort of attached, and Eddie can see up into the upper floor of the house, too.

“So the guest room - which uh, exists but no one ever fucking uses it, it’s down here, behind the kitchen, and then my room’s upstairs. There’s a bathroom attached to the guest room. Do you want - you wanna order pizza or something?”

“I don’t know, I feel bad for the fucking delivery guy - how much do you tip him?”

Richie snorts and nudges Eddie with his shoulder as he walks by and goes to dig out his computer, somewhere.

Eddie takes his stuff to his room, and it’s nice, if clinical. The furniture is all modern, the room is clean. The whole house, really feels… designed, or pre-furnished or something. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to Richie. There’s not a hint of him anywhere to be found.

Once his things are settled, Eddie goes back out to the living room, and finds some comfort in Richie’s ridiculous DVD collection, surrounding his television on all sides once the cabinet doors are opened. It’s divided by genre, and Eddie spots all of the stuff they used to watch together as teenagers - all the horror movies, all the stupid comedies, all the classics.

They do end up ordering pizza, and they eat on the couch and Richie puts on  _ Ferris Bueller’s Day Off _ , because he refuses having them watch anything remotely scary or serious - even though Eddie argues they’re unlikely to be afraid of a horror movie anymore.

At some point, Richie yawns theatrically and says he’s going to bed, so Eddie goes to bed, too.

He can see the pool from the large window in his bedroom, and he lies there for a long time, just watching the water move.

Then he’s asleep - and the daffodils have a similar motion.

This time he immediately starts searching, walking around and looking for them - Eddie knows they’re there.

“Hello?” he calls out, finally.

Then he turns - and there they are. There  _ he _ is. It’s a man, and he’s closer this time, Eddie can see that now. Eddie can make out his hair, and his jacket, and it’s - it’s familiar. Achingly familiar. Eddie feels a sort of tingle in his fingertips, and he starts running again, determined this time, determined to make it.

He can’t get any closer.

When he stops, out of breath, he yells out in frustration, “Hey, asshole!” and the guy starts to turn around, Eddie swears that he does - and then Eddie wakes up.

He’s frustrated immediately, and he kicks out his legs and rolls over to punch at the mattress and scream into his pillow. The anger, though, is going to stop him from falling back asleep, and that just makes him even angrier, mostly with himself, because it’s still just now sunrise from the looks of the sky outside, and he could have tried again and tried harder, but now he’s just stuck awake and he doesn’t feel any closer than he did in Derry and he hates it.

After he’s calmed down, he goes out into the kitchen and digs around until he finds what he needs to make coffee. He’s still just in his boxers and a t-shirt when Richie stumbles downstairs and sort of grumbles at him, reaching out for coffee.

They both stand there, leaning against the counter and the sink, across from each other, drinking their coffee in silence.

“You didn’t throw up this time, I guess that’s progress,” Eddie says eventually.

Richie tenses, slightly, and looks up at him with wide eyes. “Yeah. I guess. Guess that’s true, could have been worse. You - uh. Yours any better?”

“Not really. You wanna - talk about it or anything?”

“Not really, Eds.”

Eddie nods, and they both finish their coffee in relative quiet.

By unspoken agreement, they don’t really go out or do anything. Eddie’s sore, still, from all the climbing through the sewers and shit, and he assumes Richie is, too. Eddie has to get in touch with his lawyer and double check his bank account and start looking for jobs - all that boring mundane shit that has to happen now they’re on the other side of the supernatural insanity of Derry. It’s utterly absurd, that they defeated an interdimensional evil and like, taxes still exist, but that’s the world they live in.

They order takeout again, Chinese this time, and Richie agrees to  _ Ghostbusters _ as a sort of test and compromise, because it isn’t really scary. Besides, it was their favorite when they were kids, and they both still have all of the lines memorized.

That night, in the field, he’s closer again. Still, Eddie runs, like it’s going to make any difference, and it doesn’t. This time when he yells nothing happens. He just keeps running until eventually he falls down, and the flowers cushion his fall a little, but he’s just on his hands and knees, breathing so hard he feels like his lungs might collapse, and then he wakes up.

In the kitchen, once it looks like Richie is awake, Eddie says, “I’m in a field, in mine. Like a big - a big, empty field, and there’s someone there but I can’t see their face yet. I keep trying.”

Richie sort of squints at him for a moment, then he seems to realize, and he inhales sharply. “Oh. You - uh. But it’s not your wife.”

“Ex-wife. No.”

Richie nods at him. “I- mine are more like nightmares. I guess I’m just lucky like that.”

“Probably all the interdimensional evil shit, I wouldn’t take it personally.”

Snorting, Richie takes another sip of his coffee.

Eddie decides that day that both of them are going to be in danger of some sort of cabin fever if they keep themselves cooped up in Richie’s fancy house for another day, so he drags Richie out and insists on going for a drive. He doesn’t really care where they go - as long as they get out.

He lets Richie drive, and they end up at the beach.

It’s the first time Eddie’s ever seen the Pacific Ocean.

He rolls up his jeans so they won’t get wet and walks down to the edge of the water, trying to ignore how crowded the beach is. Richie rolls up his jeans, too, and wiggles his toes in the sand, and then starts walking into the edge of the water and trying to kick water up at Eddie to splash him.

Eddie gasps and splashes back, and eventually they’re both up to their knees in the water and nearly soaking wet, all salty and sandy and disgusting.

As they’re walking back to the car, Eddie shoves Richie, and Richie shoves him back, and they both break into giggles.

“All this sand in your car is your fault,” Eddie tells him. “And I bet it’s disgusting, too, there were tourists everywhere and this sand is probably full of just - the worst things imaginable, I’m gonna have to take like eight showers when we get home, you asshole.”

Richie just shrugs and smiles. “Hey, sand gives this old thing character. And you could stand to get a little dirty sometime, Eds, how else are you gonna remember you can do whatever you want now?”

Eddie appreciates that - but he still puts his leg on the bench seat just to kick at Richie and get sand all over his pants. Richie shoves at his foot, and Eddie just laughs.

When they get home, Eddie does spend nearly an hour in the shower, washing sand off of his body and making sure it’s gone, none of it stuck anywhere unexpected.

Richie’s in his pajamas, and waiting in the living room, and when Eddie goes to sit next to him, he’s not sandy anymore but he still smells like the ocean. Eddie dares to scoot a little closer, to put his feet up on the couch and press them against Richie’s leg, nowhere near as intimate as when they used to share the hammock, but something close - an approximation.

That night they start to edge into horror movies, and Richie picks  _ The Creature from the Black Lagoon _ because he says it’s thematically appropriate. They both have fun watching, unbothered by some combination of the black and white and the age of the monster effects.

In the dream, Eddie can hear the ocean as he watches the flowers move. It’s nice, for once. Peaceful. He closes his eyes to listen, and when he opens them again, Richie is there.

It has to be Richie. It couldn’t be anyone else. That’s his jacket, that’s his hair. He’s the right height - he even stands the right way, with his hands in his pockets and that little slouch around his shoulders.

Eddie walks towards him, and doesn’t get anywhere. He sighs.

Finally, out loud, he says, “Richie!”

And Richie turns, only-

Only things very abruptly go wrong.

The smell in the air turns sour, and everything goes dark, and Richie’s face is all wrong, like it was in the sewer, like when he got caught in the deadlights, and Eddie tries to run but he’s stuck and he can’t move and then-

Then he wakes up. He startles awake in the guest bedroom, and he sits up, muttering, “Oh God, what the fuck.”

Unable to stop himself, he gets out of bed and rushes upstairs, right to Richie’s room, and he opens the door.

Richie is there, in his bed. And he’s fine.

Eddie blinks, and watches him. His breathing slows down.

After a minute, Richie says, “Eds?” quietly, and Eddie flushes.

“Sorry- sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, I just- I think I know what you mean now about the nightmares.”

Richie sits up, then, and rubs at his eyes, and squints at him through the darkness. “You okay?”

Walking over, approaching Richie’s bed, Eddie shakes his head. “No. Not really.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No. Can I just - can we just sort of pretend we’re in Derry again and this isn’t super fucking weird?”

“Our whole lives are super fucking weird,” Richie mumbles, but he throws the covers back anyways, inviting Eddie in.

Eddie lays down on the open side, next to Richie, and takes another deep breath. “Is it- do yours start bad? Or do they turn? Like some - some fucked up shit from that summer, like it’s one thing and then it’s another like that fucking clown.”

“...Yeah, it’s like that.”

Turning onto his side, Eddie looks at Richie, and finds him looking back.

“This sucks,” Eddie tells him.

Richie snorts. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

Eddie looks at him for a while, a little relieved that Richie’s not wearing his glasses so he can’t see how fond Eddie’s expression probably is - at least the details are probably blurry to Richie, and that makes Eddie feel safe.

Eventually Eddie turns onto his other side, away from Richie, and says, “G’night, Rich.”

“Night, Eds,” Richie says back.

And they sleep.

This time, when Eddie dreams, it isn’t the field.

He’s fourteen again, and he’s in the clubhouse. In the hammock - and Richie’s there with him.

Immediately, he smiles. He digs a heel into Richie’s side, and Richie kicks at his hip in retaliation.

Richie pushes up his glasses, because he’s still trying to read, and Eddie just gets to watch him, and smile. This was always his favorite part - they argued and pushed and shoved and Eddie pretended to be pissed off and then he climbed in and Richie pretended to be pissed off, and then - then Eddie got to lay there and just watch Richie, and everyone let him.

He smiles, and nudges Richie with his foot again, a little higher up, and Richie grabs his ankle with a free hand. “Jesus, Eds,” he says. He finally looks up from his comic and then he blinks and frowns. “Eds?”

“What?” Eddie asks, trying to keep himself from smiling now that Richie’s looking at him, but there’s that same kind of bubbling delight creeping up on him, just the way it used to when they were kids, that same feeling of success every time he got Richie’s attention.

“...Nevermind.”

Richie shrugs, but then just as he’s pretending to go for his comic again, he grabs Eddie’s foot and tickles him instead. Eddie shrieks, and kicks his leg out, and the hammock tips and they both come tumbling out, laughing.

Eddie wakes up in an empty bed. He checks the bathroom and is relieved to find it empty - instead, Richie beat him to the coffee machine.

He’s standing there in the kitchen, in a ratty old t-shirt and pajama bottoms, stubble on his face, his hair still an absolute mess. Eddie just watches him for a minute, then he finishes walking down the stairs and elbows Richie gently as he goes for the coffee.

“Watch the merchandise there, Eds,” Richie says.

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, alright, because that’s really why people are coming to your comedy shows.” He picks up his mug and blows across the top. “Then again, that seems more likely than it being your shitty jokes.”

Richie stages a wince. “Oof, low blow, Eddie Spaghetti. How’ll I ever recover? I’ll just have to dry my tears with my Netflix special money.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie kicks Richie’s ankle, and Richie kicks him back.

“You, uh-” Richie starts, then stops. “You said last night that yours turned into a nightmare. Like a Pennywise thing. I- Mine are like that, too. I start out and I’m by the ocean, and then when someone shows up, if I try to do anything - they die. I have to watch them. After that night in Derry I stopped - I stopped trying to do anything.”

“I didn’t really - I mean I’d said stuff before, trying to get their attention but last night was the first time I really got as close as I did, and mine was the same way. Same thing.” Eddie takes a sip of his coffee. “You think Ben and Bev had to deal with this shit?”

Richie closes his eyes, but he laughs. “Bet they didn’t. Lucky fuckers.”

Eddie goes over and stands next to Richie, knocking their shoulders together. “I could ask Bev, if you want. Otherwise - you know, we’ll figure it out. It’ll be okay.”

“Well if you want to - I’d love to take you on another field trip today, but I have to go actually meet with my manager and try to salvage my career and shit. So you’ll have some time. You can take an Uber, probably, if you need to go anywhere, you know what’s in the fridge-”

“Rich, I’ll be fine.”

It looks like Richie thinks about saying something back, but in the end he just nods.

Once he’s gone, Eddie does call Bev.

“Eddie! It’s so good to hear from you! Sorry, hold on- Ben, honey, it’s Eddie, yeah- Sorry, Eddie! Hi.”

“No, you’re fine, I don’t- I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not really, Ben and I are sort of taking a vacation. Is there a reason you called?”

“Yeah, actually, I- Richie and I didn’t have time to tell you in Derry, but we forgot our dreams, too. The same way you and Ben did. Only now that we have them again they’re sort of- fucked up. They’re really fucked up, Bev. Did you guys struggle with that at all?”

“...No, Eddie, I’m sorry. Not since we- When I was a kid, though. After we fought It. I had terrible dreams. Nightmares, really. They were awful.”

“Awful how?”

“Not like the dreams I have now - sometimes I couldn’t see anyone, sometimes when I found someone they died, things like that.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Well at least the two of you have each other.”

“Oh we - uh, not like that. I mean we’re-” Eddie’s heart rate picks up. “I dream about him. I don’t know if he dreams about me. Talking about it is hard, when they’re bad, and I wasn’t sure it was him at first, I just knew it wasn’t Myra, but now it’s. It’s definitely him. I don’t really know how to bring that up.”

“Just talk to him, Eddie.”

“I’m trying, Bev, really I am.”

“Then you’ll get there.” In the background, a dog starts barking, and the moment is ruined when Bev starts laughing. “Sorry! Sorry, Eddie, I have to go, but you- you guys can figure it out, I believe in you.”

“Thanks Bev,” he says, and then she’s gone.

He decides to spend the day tidying up around the house. He puts away all of his clothes, properly, because he’s staying. He cleans the bathrooms, does his laundry. He cleans up the kitchen, too, gets rid of anything expired in the fridge or the freezer.

Richie comes home while Eddie’s still in the laundry room, in his pajamas in front of the dryer.

“Did you clean up?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have anything else to do, asshole, I still don’t have a job-”

“Honey, you’ve done a lovely job,” Richie says, in something resembling a Don Draper voice, and Eddie cracks up in spite of himself, laughing and blushing a little at the same time.

He smacks Richie on the shoulder and goes out to the kitchen. “I called Bev today, too - she. Well, it’s complicated, but basically she said when she was a kid, after we fought It, her dreams were bad, too. So it’s not just us. But since she and Ben got together it seems like things are fine, so you just have to - find whoever it is you dream about and work your shit out, I guess.”

Richie stares at him for a moment. “Oh. Right. Okay.” He blinks, and then shakes his head, and looks around the kitchen counter. “So, uh- what’s for dinner?”

It’s a terrible attempt at changing the subject, but Eddie lets him have it.

He makes them mac and cheese for dinner, because the ingredients are there in Richie’s fridge, and they eat in the living room like always, sitting on the couch, watching a movie.

This time, once Eddie’s finished his food, he throws both of his legs up on the couch, his toes pressed against Richie’s leg. After a few minutes, Richie turns, too, tangling their legs together. It’s just the same way they used to share the hammock. Eddie smiles.

When they go to bed, Eddie goes to his own bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face - but he looks at his own bed and knows immediately he doesn’t want to sleep there alone again.

Instead, without pretense, he makes his way upstairs and knocks on Richie’s door before he pushes it open.

Richie’s still sitting up in bed, with his glasses on. “Oh. Hey, Eds. You- need something?”

“I don’t want to sleep downstairs again right now. And last time that was fine, so is that still… fine?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Richie’s voice sounds a little strangled, and he clears his throat afterwards.

Eddie gives him the dignity of ignoring it, and lays down in the bed, next to him.

Richie turns out the light, and Eddie lets it get quiet - lets the silence wrap around both of them. He listens for the sound of Richie’s glasses landing on the bedside table.

“The person in my dream is - he’s a guy,” Eddie says quietly.

“...Yeah, mine is too.”

“I figured. I just thought maybe we should talk about - we don’t have to  _ talk about it  _ talk about it but I wanted to say that much, so you knew.”

“Okay.” There’s a rustling beside him, Richie shifting in the bed. Eddie doesn’t look at him. “Did Bev think talking about it would help?”

“Basically.”

The problem is, Eddie still can’t convince himself to tell Richie who it is. That it’s him. For all Richie knows, Eddie still hasn’t figured it out, because Eddie had mentioned not knowing for a while, and it’s so much easier to hide behind that than to say it out loud, even after everything.

“Night, Rich,” Eddie says finally.

“Night, Eds.”

In the dream that night, they’re in the clubhouse in the hammock again. Eddie immediately sighs with relief and settles in, one of his legs curling around one of Richie’s, the other one reaching out, his heel settling against Richie’s side again. One of Richie’s legs is up under Eddie’s arm, practically in his armpit, but Eddie doesn’t care.

This was his favorite place to be, for years, and he could stay here now for the rest of his life, happily.

Richie puts his comic down quickly this time, and looks at Eddie again. “Hey, Eds. Say something.”

Eddie opens his eyes and frowns over at him. “What do you want me to say, asshole?” He nudges his foot against Richie. “Can’t we just like, relax for two minutes?”

“Isn’t this weird to you at all?”

“Weird how?”

“That we’re here? That no one else is here?”

“We did this all the time!”

Richie shifts forward suddenly, and the hammock lurches, forcing Eddie to grab onto the sides.

“Hey, watch it-”

“You said did!”

“Cause we did? I don’t - what are you talking about?”

“You know we’re dreaming.”

“Of course I’m dreaming, it’s my dream-”

“No shit, but it’s my dream, too - we’re actually - like isn’t this - isn’t this how it’s supposed to-”

Eddie’s heart rate picks up. Carefully, he tries to keep the hammock balanced, but he shifts around so he can get his head up by Richie’s. Then they’re pressed together, shoulder to knee, and when Eddie turns his head, his face is right by Richie’s. “Rich, are you - what are you saying?”

Richie reaches over and grabs at Eddie’s arm, shaking it a little right at the elbow. “I’m saying I’m real and you’re real and this is- the right kind of dream. We- do you always dream about me?”

Eddie flushes, but he nods, keeping his eyes locked with Richie’s. “I didn’t realize at first. Cause you wouldn’t turn around, and then when you did it was- that was the first night I showed up in your room. I guess that counted as working our shit out.”

Laughing, Richie pulls Eddie into a hug, and then they’re cuddling, properly, in a way they never did when they were kids. Their legs are still all tangled together, but now Richie’s arms are thrown around Eddie’s neck and shoulders, and Eddie’s face is pressed against Richie’s neck, and Richie’s curls are brushing against Eddie’s temple as he laughs.

“Did you dream about me too?” Eddie asks.

“Every night, Eds. When I was a kid and when I couldn’t remember and when we fell asleep in Derry. Every fucking time.”

“Sorry they were awful.”

“Doesn’t matter now.”

They stay like that, curled up together in the hammock. Eddie traces his fingers along the pattern on Richie’s ugly shirt, and Richie just hums and keeps holding Eddie, sometimes reaching up to play with his hair.

Eddie wakes up in the morning, and Richie is still there beside him. One of his legs is thrown over one of Richie’s, but they’re not really properly curled up together. Eddie shifts closer, curls up next to Richie, and waits.

“Rich?” he whispers.

Richie wakes up, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and squints at Eddie. Then his eyes light up, and Eddie gets to watch them - gets to see that same expression, on that same face, 27 years older.

“Eds-” Only Richie gets cut off there, because Eddie leans over and kisses him.

It takes no time at all before Richie is kissing him back, hand at the back of Eddie’s neck to keep him close, other hand at his waist to pull his body even closer.

They kiss, and kiss, and breathe against each other’s mouths, and kiss some more. Eddie’s lips feel raw, and his face is probably irritated from Richie’s stubble, but he doesn’t care. When he finally does pull back, he just nudges his nose against Richie’s, then moves to press his face against Richie’s neck - just like he did in the dream.

“I should have known it was you,” Eddie says.

“I- I don’t know why I didn’t say anything, I guess I just thought I fucked up somehow, that I was the reason you kept dying if I tried to get to you-”

Richie’s arms tighten around him, and Eddie rubs at his shoulder. “Not your fault. Clearly a fucked up interdimensional evil thing. And now we’re good. That thing is extremely dead and now the worst shit we have to worry about is like - adult shit.”

“Ugh, gross,” Richie says.

Eddie snorts. “Bev’s probably gonna win money off this. I told her yesterday - I bet she tried to start a betting pool with everybody - or at least with Ben.”

Richie makes a happy sort of sound, muffled against Eddie’s hair. “Sounds like them.”

They lay there for a while. Eventually, Eddie realizes how gross he feels. “I need to go shower and brush my teeth.”

“Mmmm can I come with you?”

“Richie, oh my god.”

When Eddie pulls back, Richie’s looking up at him, making his eyes as big and pathetic as possible. “Eds, come on.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be today?”

“Nope! Career turnaround starts next week, baby, today I’m all yours.”

And that - that makes Eddie’s heart skip a little in his chest, and he smiles in spite of himself. Richie, really all his, all his undivided attention for the rest of the day. “Alright. Well, come on then. If I’m not getting rid of you then we’re definitely getting a shower.”

So Eddie finally gets him out of bed, and drags him downstairs - and eventually they’ll call Bev and she’ll be happy, and they’ll tell all their friends, but first they’ll get a day just to themselves, just the two of them in their house with their routines and the little life they are steadily building, together. Because they made it - and now they get to be together. That’s how it goes.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> i'm officially using my IT tumblr again, so if you want to find me there, it's eddykaspbraks! i'll post my fics there and i'll gladly take prompts if anyone has them!
> 
> see all you putting out fire readers this wednesday when the next chapter gets posted!


End file.
